


Something Just Like This

by Luka z Rivii (wayward_dream)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, geralt has shit self-esteem, someone hug geralt pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/Luka%20z%20Rivii
Summary: A job goes bad and Geralt needs some comfort.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 94





	Something Just Like This

The sight of Roach picketed in your front yard when you returned home from a long day of work at the inn made you smile warmly. She was grazing,but she lifted your head as you approached and snorted.

“Hi, girl,” you murmured to her,stroking her mane. She lipped at your arm and pawed at the ground restlessly, tossing your head with a snort. Frowning,you pet the side of her neck until she settled. “Bad hunt, huh? How’s he doing?” You glanced at your little cottage. No lights inside, no signs of life whatsoever. You felt worry begin to trickle through you.

Roach whickered and butted her head against your chest. “Okay, okay, I’m going to check on him,” you assured her with a few soothing pats. She snorted again and resumed her grazing, tail swishing agitatedly as you stepped away and approached the cottage.

“Geralt?” you spoke softly as you unlocked and opened the front door. You knew you didn’t need to raise your voice for him to hear you, and if he wasn’t feeling well then he needed quiet.

There was no answer, making you more uneasy. You shrugged out of your overcoat and slipped your shoes off before padding down the hallway. Dark, cold fireplace, kitchen untouched. But your bedroom door was cracked open. You took a deep breath before pushing it open and slipping inside. “Geralt?”

The lighting was dim without any candles, but you could make out his form laying on your bed, curled up with his back to you; the set of his shoulders loose and moving with his quiet breaths. If you didn’t know better, you would believe he was sleeping, but he was a light sleeper and would have woken at your approach.

You watched him silently before moving to the chest of drawers, stumbling over something on your way. You caught yourself on the edge of the dresser, taking a deep breath and grabbing a box of matches. The candle you lit cast dim, flickering light over the room, allowing you to see that your sheets and duvet had been stripped from your mattress and cast to the floor (that was what you’d tripped over).

Of more immediate concern, however, was the dark bruising and dried blood caking Geralt’s bare skin. Your stomach twisted; if it still looked this bad, he must have had even worse injuries that had needed healing first, and you hated to think of him, suffering and in pain. But you also knew that he was very strong, and would be fine, and getting upset would only agitate and upset him.

Taking a deep breath, you went and sat on the edge of the bed behind him, ignoring the tension bunching his shoulders. You ached to reach out and touch him, but he wasn’t wearing any clothes, so his skin was probably feeling pretty sensitive, and you were loathe to cause him further discomfort.

“Why are the sheets on the floor?” you asked quietly, trying to keep your tone conversational so he would know you weren’t upset with him. Still, he twitched – for him, that was practically flinching, as though you’d struck him, and your heart ached with worry. What had happened?

He didn’t answer you for so long that you thought he wasn’t going to. You were just trying to figure out how to tactfully ask what he needed to be taken care of when he exhaled and rumbled, “Didn’t want to get them dirty.”

“I can wash sheets, love,” you told him softly. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Didn’t want to force any further burden upon you,” he muttered. It worried you that he wasn’t looking from you,that he was so tense.

“Taking care of you is never a burden.” You hesitated before tentatively offering, “Do you want to talk about–?”

“No,” he interrupted harshly. You winced, but you also noted how he curled a bit tighter around himself and you knew not to take it personally.

“Okay. That’s okay, Geralt,” you told him softly. “Do you need anything?” A sharp shake of his head. “Okay. Well….would it be alright if I stayed with you?” Sometimes he needed space, and you would hate to leave him alone in this state, but if he needed to be alone you could respect that.

He hesitated, and then nodded. It was faint, barely even noticeable,but you were used to looking for the smallest nuances when it came to him, so you caught it nonetheless. Smiling, you laid down on your side facing his back, close enough that he’d sense your warmth but not pressing, not demanding touch if it wasn’t what he wanted. Just a gentle assurance that you were here for him.

After a few moments of sitting in silence together he exhaled quietly, all the tension draining out of him at once, and you smiled. “Can I hold you?” you asked softly.

In answer, Geralt shifted until his back pressed to your chest. You tucked your knees behind his and slid an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulders. He sighed again, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested on his stomach and tangling your fingers together.

“It was bad,” he murmured quietly. You hummed, nuzzling his shoulder gently. He didn’t have to tell you, but you would listen if he wanted to. “She was….she was so young. She didn’t deserve–” He exhaled sharply, his fingers squeezing painfully around yours. “She was innocent. And when I wouldn’t kill her, they–they…” You heard him swallow, felt him go tense in your arms, and he didn’t have to finish. You felt tears burn in your own eyes and cleared your throat.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you told him softly. He made a sharp noise of disagreement. “Love, try as you might, you can’t….save everyone. And you are _not_ responsible for the actions of others.”

“I should have protected her. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I should have–”

“Stop,” you told him softly. You heard his teeth click as he snapped his jaw shut, and he released your hand abruptly, trying to move away but going still when you clung to him. He was always so careful,with you, always allowing you to hold on when he could easily get away, allowing you to have him where you wanted him. It was such a display of trust while he was vulnerable, you kissed his neck. He sighed harshly.

“….there’s more?” you prompted quietly. It seemed like he needed to get this off his chest, or it would continue to fester and plague him.

“…..they came after me, next.” You traced the bruising on his shoulders with a feather-light touch, anger kindling in your veins as you thought of them attacking him, _hurting him_ for refusing to kill. “I was going to just leave, but one of them taunted me about what they’d done. They butchered her, and had the gall to call me a monster, and they spat on her body and I–” He exhaled harshly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I became exactly what they fear most,” he whispered while his hand hid his expression.

“Oh, Geralt,” you whispered.

“Still believe it wasn’t my fault?” he muttered bitterly.

“Yes,” you said firmly and he froze. He finally twisted around in your arms, sitting up on one arm to stare at you incredulously. You sat up as well, crossing your arms over your stomach. “Geralt, those men were cruel and dreadful. I don’t know everything, but I know that you are not responsible for men like that.”

“It’s not my place to–”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted. “Geralt, from the injuries you still have I can tell that you were badly hurt. No matter what you did, it was self-defense, and I won’t have you self-flagellating for standing up for yourself.”

Geralt stared at you with unreadable amber eyes and you stared right back, setting your jaw so he’d know you were serious. You expected him to argue more, to berate himself and be morose.

So you were pleasantly surprised when his hand cupped your jaw, tipping it up so you met him for a gentle kiss. It was chaste and only lasted a few moments, but it had you smiling when he pulled back.

“What was that for?” you asked softly, covering his hand with your own and holding it to his face.

“You came home to me, covered in blood. Most people would react with fear, or disgust.”

“I’m not most people,” you told him, turning your head to kiss his palm. His lips turned up slightly at the corners but his eyes were full of strong emotion so you leaned in to kiss him again. He hummed against your lips, his free hand coming to rest on your waist and draw you closer. You laughed softly and pulled away.

“No, no, absolutely not. I love you, but you’re filthy. Come on, I’ll draw you a bath,” you told him as you slid away, tangling your fingers in his and tugging. He rumbled a quiet chuckle and followed you, but when you got to the doorway he pulled you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you,” he said quietly into your hair and you melted. You knew what he meant. Thank you for accepting him, for understanding. Thank you for taking his side. Thank you for loving him.

“Always,” you told him quietly, smiling up at him. “Now come on, I meant it about that bath.”

“Whatever you say, dove.”


End file.
